


For you the world, Phil.

by jesterwastaken



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angel of Death Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Caring Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Dream SMP Spoilers, Dream Smp, Dream Team SMP Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Dream Team SMP Spoilers, Immortality, Immortals, Platonic Life Partners, Protective Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & Phil Watson Friendship (Video Blogging RPF), god AU, immortal au, platonic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:56:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29278815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesterwastaken/pseuds/jesterwastaken
Summary: He’d grown used to being alone. After centuries of blood and slaughter, he thought he didn’t deserve not to be. His hands were coarse and rough from overuse and the binding on the handle of his sword had worn long ago. He could stand being alone but most of all, he was tired. He’d spent lifetimes robbing and pillaging and murdering, and for what? The voices demanded blood, and they were never satisfied.--Phil lowered his hands. He unbuttoned his cape and let it fall to the floor behind him. From his back extended two obsidian black wings, at least 20 feet in wingspan by Techno’s estimate. The feathers had an iridescent quality, colors shifting in the firelight.“You... you’re an immortal?”“I’m like you, Techno.” Phil gestured to Technoblade’s sword. “Now, will you please put that away? I imagine we have a lot to talk about.”Basically just that one DSMP au where Phil and Techno are immortal beings who've lived for thousands of years, not entirely sure where I'm gonna take this fic, I just really like exploring their relationship. THIS IS NOT A SHIP FIC, ALL INTERACTIONS BETWEEN PHIL AND TECHNO ARE ENTIRELY PLATONIC
Relationships: Phil Minecraft & Technoblade, Phil and Techno - Relationship, Philza Minecraft & Technoblade, Philza and Technoblade (Platonic), Philza | Tecnoblade
Comments: 9
Kudos: 157





	1. Snow and Wings

He’d grown used to being alone. After centuries of blood and slaughter, he thought he didn’t deserve not to be. His hands were coarse and rough from overuse and the binding on the handle of his sword had worn long ago. He could stand being alone but most of all, he was tired. He’d spent lifetimes robbing and pillaging and murdering, and for what? The voices demanded blood, and they were never satisfied.

He trudged wearily through the snow on that day, returning from his hunt. He dragged his game behind him, a large deer that must've weighed at least 250 pounds. The animal dyed the snow a deep crimson as he dragged it, and the color very nearly matched that of his cloak. His breathing was heavy and labored, and his legs felt as though they could give out at one wrong step. By the gods, he was tired.

He could see his cabin in the distance. He told himself it was right there, he only had to keep walking a few minutes more.

_No. You'll never make it. Give up._

It was at times like these, when his fatigue was at its peak, that he had trouble tuning them out. Snowflakes stuck in his eyelashes, and he dropped the deer behind him. He needed to shed weight just to make it home, and he knew he could come back and get it later. His muscles ached, a small, drawn out pain that he'd carried for longer than he could remember. Except now, there was nothing to distract him. No kingdoms to overthrow, no children to orphan, no blood left to be spilled for miles. Just him, and the snow. His vision blurred, and he found himself stumbling. His fall was cushioned by the fluffy snow beneath him. As he drifted out of consciousness, the cold of the snow on his skin was the only thing he could sense, along with the silence of his surroundings.

He'd always liked snow. At least, he thought he had. When you were as old as he was, "always" seemed like such an insignificant word. His memories of childhood were nearly nonexistent at that point, but every once in a while he'd get glimpses, small feelings or familiar scents that reminded him of something distant. The one thing he was certain about his past was the snow. He remembered sitting out in the snow for hours on end as a child, just watching in wonderment. He loved how monochromatic the world got when it snowed, like the gods had taken a paintbrush and recolored everything in greyscale. But most of all, he loved the quiet when it snowed. Moments of quiet were rare for him now, but whenever he remembered the snow of his childhood, it always seemed so calm. The world still got quiet when it snowed now, but his voices filled the quiet as quickly as it came. As the years passed, quiet became a foreign concept, and he longed for the cold of days gone by.

_"Are you alright, mate?"_

He heard a voice in the distance. He tried to move, but felt something heavy pinning him down. Despite his fur lined cloak, he was freezing. As his awareness slowly returned to him, he registered that he was covered in snow.

"Aw, jeez. How long have you been out here?"

The voice was closer now, and he felt the snow on top of him shifting. He tried to move again, and with much effort, he rose to his knees. He tried to stand further, but quickly lost his balance. He felt a pair of arms catch him before he hit the ground.

"Woah, woah! Easy there, mate. We need to warm you up."

His vision was still blurry, and he felt weak. He didn't like to feel weak.

"Is that your cabin?"

He could make out the figure's arm pointing behind him, and he turned his head. He couldn't see through the snow, but he'd always had a good sense of direction, and he knew his cabin was that way. A short "Mm.." was all he could get out.

"Well that's... vague. If it's not yours, I'm sure whoever's it is won't mind."

The figure then hoisted him up on his feet, slinging his arm around their shoulders. Even in the bitter cold, the figure's hand on his wrist was incredibly warm. He was vaguely aware of some dark canopy shielding them from the snow before he slipped back out of consciousness.

He remembered that warmth on his wrist through his sleep, and the warmth had spread through his whole body when he came to. He blinked, and his vision had cleared. He recognized the ceiling of his cabin, and that he was laid on his couch. A fire burned in the hearth, filling the cabin with an amber light and a welcoming warmth. He looked around, and things were neater than he remembered leaving them. His cloak was hung to dry near the fire, and he could smell cinnamon somewhere in the house. His sword and axe were propped against the doorframe, and he could see out the small window on the door that it was dark, and the blizzard was still raging outside.

“Oh, you’re awake!” He cocked his head toward the voice, and saw his rescuer clearly for the first time. There was a man standing in the threshold to the kitchen, a cup of tea in either hand. He was slim, but looked as though he could put up a fight. He had golden hair pulled back in a short ponytail, and a green and white striped bucket hat. “Sorry, mate. I know you’re probably confused.” The man made his way over to the living room, and sat in a chair across from the couch. He placed one of the teacups on the coffee table between them. “I made you some tea. I’m Phil.”

He picked up the teacup and took a sip. Tastes of cinnamon and peppermint filled his mouth. He looked up at the man sat across from him, Phil. Phil had an expectant look on his face.

There was a long silence. “...And your name is?” Phil prompted.

It was then that he realized how out of practice he was at social interaction. He tried to speak, his voice raspy at first from lack of use. “Oh uh... Technoblade.”

Phil stood up and offered a handshake. “Nice to meet you, Technoblade. Sorry for breaking into your house.”

Techno stood and took Phil’s hand. Again, that warmth. “Don’t sweat it. And... thanks for helpin’ me out back there.”

The two sat back down, and sat in silence for a moment as they both sipped their tea. After a moment, Phil spoke. “Oh! Now that you’re awake, you should sit closer to the fire. Dry out your wings faster.”

Technoblade’s eyes went wide as he registered what Phil had said. He slowly set his teacup down on the table. Then, in one swift movement, he grabbed his cloak and swung it over his shoulders to cover his wings, grabbed his sword, and pointed it at Phil’s face. “You... weren’t exactly supposed to see that.”

Phil stood cautiously, raising his hands in defense. Techno raised his blade with him, the tip just inches from Phil’s face. Phil spoke, his voice shaky. “Woah, careful where you point that mate.”

“Yeah, I really appreciate you gettin’ me back home safe and sound...” Technoblade’s voice was as steady as his blade, experienced in violence and with a taste for blood. “..but I really can’t have you goin’ back where you came from and blabbin’ about that particular feature of mine.”

_Yes. Kill. Blood. Kill him. Blood for the Blood God._

Phil wore an expression of hurt, almost betrayal. Techno wondered how a man he just met could trust him enough to feel betrayed. “Technoblade I know we’ve just met, and you’ve no reason to trust me, but please, trust me. I wouldn’t.”

“What, you think I’m an idiot?!” Techno swung his sword down as he raised his voice and stepped closer to Phil. Phil didn’t move. “‘Hey guys, I found this freak with wings in the middle of nowhere, let’s go put his head on a plaque!’ Do you know who I am?”

_Yes._ **_Yes. BLOOD._ **

Phil lowered his hands. “I don’t know _who_ you are, Techno. But I know _what_ you are.” He unbuttoned his cape and let it fall to the floor behind him. From his back extended two obsidian black wings, at least 20 feet in wingspan by Techno’s estimate. The feathers had an iridescent quality, colors shifting in the firelight.

_**KILL. IT DOESN’T MATTER. KILL. BLOOD. KILL.** _

Technoblade willed the voices into silence. He needed to think. “You... you’re an immortal?”

“I’m like you, Techno.” Phil gestured to Technoblade’s sword. “Now, will you please put that away? I imagine we have a lot to talk about.”


	2. Sunsets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil and Techno reminisce on the sunsets of their past lives.

Phil’s wings beat effortlessly against the snowy sky. Snowflakes nipped at his cheeks as he flew, the brief nibbles of frost on his face kept him awake and aware. He was flying lower than he usually would. He worried he’d be too easy to spot, the jet black of his wings in stark contrast with the flat white of the snowy sky. He longed for some variance in the nondescript view below him, nothing but snow and spruce trees for miles.

Phil thought back to the snows of his past, in that town he couldn’t remember with those people he wished he could forget. He thought about the stinging cold of some winters, temperatures far below zero and his mother warning him he’d get frostbite if he so much as stepped one foot out the door. He thought of the days following a snowstorm, that town blanketed in white and the sunset reflecting blood orange and purple on the snow. The only thing that was ever pretty about that place was its sunsets, colors shifting a thousand shades a second, the great decrescendo of those noisy days into something quieter and cooler, the soft blues and blacks of the night.

He missed those sunsets. It was a missing that he’d pushed so deep into his gut for so long, deep enough to ignore on any normal day. But on days like these, when there was nothing but travel and quiet and wind, the voices would not let him forget that it was him who painted those sunsets grey. It was him who dyed the snow in that town black and red, and him who melted the snow altogether. He missed those sunsets dearly.

_You don’t have the right. How could you miss something you destroyed?_

Phil pressed his eyes shut and wished for quiet. The voices did not oblige.

_Killza. The Angel of Death. You’ll never be anything else._

_That’s not my name_ , Phil thought, and beat his wings harder, faster. He accelerated his flight as much as his body would let him. He hoped with every fiber of his being for the wind to drown out his hearing, for the snow to freeze his eardrums, for any bit of silence.

_Look. What is that?_

Phil opened his eyes and winced as the snow whizzing past clouded his vision. He forced himself to slow his flight, and upon clearing his sight, he noticed a change to the uniform snow of his travels. Below him was a trail of red disrupting the smooth white of the area. Some 100 yards in front of that was a small clearing in the trees surrounding a cabin, a stable attached to the front.

Phil silently thanked the gods for giving him something to do, something to take his attention away from the voices, away from that wrenched town. He slowed his wings carefully, descending into the knee deep snow below. He trudged through the snow along the trail of red and puzzled when it ended abruptly in front of a patch of raised snow. He pulled his sleeve over his hand and brushed off the top layer of snow. His hand was met with soft fur, and upon clearing more snow, he found a large deer, blood soaking the snow beneath it, eyes hollow and devoid of life. Phil covered his mouth and nose with his arm and grimaced at the animal.

He started toward the cabin in the distance. About ten yards later he stopped, something in the snow catching his eye. A small patch of color among the white, a stray pink brushstroke in the gods’ grand landscape. He treaded closer, and leaned over to get a better look. He touched the patch of pink with a tentative finger, and scrunched his face in confusion when he felt the familiar texture of hair. He looked up tensely and noticed another thing sticking out of the snow about a foot in front of the pink hair. Phil’s eyes went wide as he saw a hand outstretched toward the cabin, palm coarse and rough, dirt and red under nails, fingers slender and lacking in color. Phil’s heart plummeted as his mind silently screamed the realization: _There is a person under there._

Phil’s muscles froze him in place, panic for this stranger corrupting his agency over his own body. “Are you alright, mate?” He choked out. No response. _The snow_ , he thought. _I need to get rid of the snow_. He willed his arms to move, to scoop handfuls of the dreadful white away as quickly as he could. The snow shifted under him, and he saw the fingers twitch slightly. “Aw, jeez. how long have you been out here?” he thought out loud, his breathing ragged and panicked. The snow shifted again, and the figure rose to his knees precariously, snow falling to the ground as he righted himself. He looked to be taller than Phil, pink hair a stark contrast to the greyscale of the snowy landscape, and bits of snow still stuck to the fur lining of his deep red cloak. The thing that Phil thought most striking about his features, however, was his face. More specifically, the large scars that sprawled across the upper half of his face, and the pale green of his eyes.

He moved to stand, but quickly lost his balance. Phil grabbed him by his shoulders to prevent his fall. “Woah, woah! Easy there, mate.” Phil looked up to the cabin in the distance. “We need to get you warmed up. Is that your cabin?” The stranger offered little more than a grunt in reply. Phil muttered hopefully that the owner wouldn’t mind them using it. There weren’t any other structures for miles and Phil knew this man would die if he didn’t warm up soon.

_No. Leave him. He’ll only slow you down._

He pulled the stranger up to stand, hand on his wrist and slinging his arm over his shoulders to keep him standing. Phil positioned his wings over the two of them to shield them from the growing onslaught of snow. Phil moved his hand to the stranger’s back to help guide him as they walked. He felt a soft texture meet his hand. At first, he thought it was just the lining of this stranger’s cloak, but he knew that wasn’t quite right. He recognized this texture, silky and flat, _feathers_.

Phil’s first thought was a feathered shirt, this stranger certainly looked to be wealthy enough to afford one, but something about that thought didn’t sit right in his mind. The feathers felt too real, not like the thin stringy imitations used in most feathered garments. No, Phil knew what this was. The same feathers that haunted him in youth and served as his only protection now. He was sure of it. This stranger had wings.

-

Technoblade sat backwards in his chair, back to the fireplace. His crimson wings extended slightly behind him, drying out in the heat of the flame. Phil sat across from him on the couch, his wings folded under his cape once again. Techno stared at the coffee table blankly, his head swimming with thoughts and voices. Phil was silent, giving Techno the quiet he needed to think. The ambient crackle of the fire filled the silence between them, along with the voices in their heads.

"You're like me," Technoblade finally said.

"It seems so," Phil replied matter-of-factly.

"I..." Techno held his face in his hands. He'd been alone for so long, he had forgotten how to interact with others years ago. And now, he was faced with someone who knew his most intimate secret, someone who shared that secret himself, and someone he'd just met, no less. "I didn’t think I’d ever meet another."

Techno absentmindedly chewed a strand of his hair, a stress tic he'd had since youth. Phil noticed this, and took the opportunity to lighten the mood. "Would you like some help with that, Techno?"

"Heh?" Techno looked up, now aware of his involuntary tic. His hair had gotten a lot longer than he usually kept it. He'd meant to cut it months ago, but it somehow always slipped his mind. "What do you mean?"

"I could pull it back for you," Phil said, making his way across the room to stand behind Techno's chair. "I used to have really long hair. I taught myself to style it pretty well."

Normally, Techno would refuse in an instant. He would never voluntarily put himself in a place of vulnerability. Even Phil just standing behind him would make him antsy, but he just wasn't. He felt like he could trust him, somehow. It almost scared him how easy Phil was to trust. "Uh.. yeah. Yeah, thanks." He pulled his hair back over his shoulder, letting it fall down his back.

Phil positioned himself between Techno's extended wings and took Techno's hair gently in his hands. Techno recoiled instinctively from the contact, then spoke, too embarrassed to turn around and meet Phil’s eyes.. "Sorry... It's been a while since anyone's uh, y'know.. touched me." Phil smiled patiently, and let Techno take a moment to compose himself before taking his hair again. Phil parted it and pulled the top part back, combing through Techno’s soft pink with his fingers. He began to speak as he worked.

"So, how old are you?"

"1621," Techno replied.

"Oh, wow," Phil said, weaving tufts of hair together uniformly. "That's specific."

"How old are you?" Techno asked.

"Not entirely sure," Phil replied. "I lost count ages ago. If I had to guess, maybe... 2100? Somewhere around there."

Techno never lost count. Of anything. 1621 years. 598 villages burned. 82 monarchs assassinated. 130 homes abandoned. The counting kept him sane. It helped him remember who he was, why he was alone. The only thing he didn't count was kills. There always comes a point when numbers go too high to count.

“Do you have any hair pins?” Phil asked.

“I think there are some in the bedroom,” Techno replied. He moved to stand, but Phil put his hands firmly on Techno’s shoulders.

“Please, let me get them. You still need to rest.”

“Uh.. sure,” Techno hesitantly agreed. He gestured to the opposite end of the room. “Just up that ladder. Should be on the bookshelves somewhere.

“Great,” Phil said, making his way over to the ladder. “Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be right back.”

Technoblade’s room was small, and Phil had to lean forward slightly to avoid hitting his head on the roof. He found it slightly amusing that Techno—who was several inches taller than Phil—would choose the room with the lowest ceiling in the house as his bedroom. The room was sparsely decorated, the only non-functional items in it being a solid emerald block above which hung a bell. The only other contents of the room were the bed itself, a few bookshelves and a small table made out of obsidian. A large book with some ancient runes scrawled on the cover sat closed on the table.

Phil turned to the bookshelves to look for the hairpins. The tops of the bookshelves were empty, save for a stale glass of water and a considerable amount of dust. Phil looked at the books on the shelves. There were books from many different lands, some in languages he couldn’t understand, others that looked older than he himself. There were encyclopedias dating back centuries and biographies of people no doubt long dead.

Phil noticed a book near the end of one of the shelves, spine facing in. He took it out, and found it was a book familiar to him, Sun Tzu’s _The Art of War_. The copy looked old, probably one of the oldest in Techno’s collection. The spine was broken ten times over, and the leather on either cover was worn and flaking. The title on the front cover had faded to a dull beige, and Phil ran his fingers over the lettering in reminiscence. He was relatively young the last time he’d read this book.

Techno’s copy looked well loved. The pages were yellowed and brittle, but Phil could see the creases of dogears on the corner of just about every other page. There were several markers sticking out the sides, and many lines highlighted, many notes written in margins. Phil skimmed through mindlessly. He hadn’t taken Techno for the literary type, but that very well could have been because Techno had pointed a sword at him two minutes after they’d officially met.

Phil landed on a page that was relatively bare compared to the rest of the book. Only one annotation had been made, a single line circled countless times in red ink: _The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting._ The one-word note beside it in the margin: _bullshit._ The ink was smeared and the paper was thin where the writer had circled the line so many times. Phil had a feeling he’d stumbled upon something not meant for his viewing, and considering how Techno reacted the last time he’d done that, he quickly replaced the book on the shelf and started down the ladder.

When Phil got back down, Techno was no longer in his chair, leaving the room empty. “Erm.. Technoblade?” Phil called hesitantly.

“Uh, over here!” Phil heard Techno’s voice from the hall, and followed it to find him crouching in front of a bureau against the wall, the cabinet doors open, obscuring Techno from Phil’s view.

“No luck with the hair pins up there,” Phil reported.

“Oh, no?” Techno replied. “Well it’s a good thing I thought of this, then.” He stood, and Phil noticed that he was now wearing a mask, a pig with two long tusks covering the top half of his face. He pulled a small wooden box out of the cabinet and placed it on the top of the bureau, then pushed the cabinet doors closed with his knee. Phil looked at the box. It was small, about the size and shape of a shoebox, with ornate, swirling designs carved into the lid and a polished silver clasp holding it shut. Techno didn’t mention the mask, so Phil thought it best not to pry.

Techno opened the box. The inside was lined with purple velvet, and filled with silver chains and gold earrings, gemstone pendants and beaded bracelets. Techno sifted through the jewels and resplendence with care, looking for a specific piece he remembered. He found it at the bottom of the box, discarded years prior under all the rest, long forgotten and neglected, it shined dimmer than Techno remembered. He took the hair clip out and showed it to Phil.

Two golden feathered wings crossed each other in an X-shape. A gem was inlaid at the tip of either wing, a circular ruby and emerald, respectively. Phil turned it over in his hands, marveling at the way the candlelight reflected from the stones. “It’s beautiful, Techno,” Phil handed it back to him.

Techno smiled, and rubbed the green stone with his thumb. “Yeah,” he said, quieter now. “It was a gift from a childhood friend.”

-

Techno gawked at the hair clip his friend had presented him, the dimming of the magenta sunset painting it in vivid light, accentuating the beauty of the gift. “Holy crap!” Techno exclaimed. “Is this real gold?”

“Yeah!” his friend responded enthusiastically. “I know you really like gold. And look at the gems! Red and green, just like us.” His smile was wide and bright, and Techno wondered how he could always be so cheery in their situation.

“How did you get this?” Techno pressed, worry rising in his tone as he realized stealing something like this was exactly something his friend would do.

“I didn’t steal it if that’s what you’re wondering,” his friend replied. He knew Techno’s anxieties better than Techno himself sometimes. Techno raised a skeptical eyebrow, to which he said, “I didn’t! I traded all my redstone to a kid at school. His dad’s a metalworker, he got him to make it for me.”

“Wow, I- this is-” Techno stumbled over his words, touched by his friend’s kindness. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“No need,” his friend said, and took the clip from his hands. He pushed Techno’s hair behind his ear and secured it with the extravagant fastener. “I wanted something to remind you of us when you’re older. You’re gonna get out of this town, Techno, I know it. I have my siblings to take care of, but you can go anywhere. Just don’t forget me when you’re gone.”

Techno couldn’t think of anything to say, so he didn’t say anything. He just hugged his friend, a heartfelt display of his gratitude. He could never forget.

His friend accepted the hug gladly. “We’re birds of a feather, you and me,” he cracked, eliciting a chuckle from Techno.

“Good one, Dream.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooo new character alert! i wonder how dream will tie in to the rest of it? for reference, that last scene with techno and dream took place around the time they were 13 or 14.
> 
> wow i did not expect this chapter to be as long as it ended up being. i usually never write more than 1500 words in a chapter, let alone 2800! anyway, i'm really excited about this fic and i have a lot of ideas for it. i hope you're enjoying reading and i hope you decide to stick around! i read all the comments and i love hearing your feedback, so please let me know what you think! see you next chapter!


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